


Burning For You

by OuterCrasis (CentralCrasis)



Series: Drifting Together [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force-Sensitive Original Character(s), No use of y/n, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Din Djarin, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, gratuitous use of mando'a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CentralCrasis/pseuds/OuterCrasis
Summary: Your adventures with the Mandalorian and his son continue across the stars as you continue to discover just what it is you mean to each other.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Series: Drifting Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165571
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	Burning For You

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the continuation of the previous work in this series - Written in the Stars. You may face some confusion without having read the previous work, but I don’t think it will be too bad. I hope you’re ready for things to get spicy ;) Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible TW: Descriptions of torture within this chapter - nothing too graphic, but I wanted to give the warning.

_Now_

The binders burn against your wrists. You can hear screams echoing through the air and somewhere, in the back of your mind, you're aware they're coming from you. The pain you feel shredding through your body is so intense you're nearly numb to it by now. Any tears you can shed dried up long ago and your throat is raw.

You aren't sure how long you've been like this. The room you're trapped in doesn’t allow for a clear picture of the passage of time. You know you've fallen unconscious once or twice but there’s also no way to know how long you were out for either. It's difficult to keep your thoughts straight. Your entire body is nothing other than _pain._ Searing, white hot pain, that varies between bad and worse. The bantharod presses between your shoulder blades again, tearing another scream from your lungs.

"I’ll ask again, where is he?" You turn your head towards the voice and find yourself staring at the same Red Nikto that’s been questioning you since you were brought into this cell.

"Who?" you manage to rasp. The bantharod is pushed into your back. Bad answer.

"You know damn well who, girl. The Mandalorian."

Thoughts of Din flood your mind, a brief distraction from your pain. You'd be lying if you said you aren't worried about him, which is ironic given the circumstances. Not long ago you were wishing that he’d know you were taken, that he would come to your rescue but now you’re not so sure. These criminals were more savage than you originally gave them credit for. You just want Din and Grogu safe, far away from here. 

You know Din though and you know he's probably running himself ragged trying to find you right now. Part of you wishes he wouldn't, but then if he did that he wouldn't be your Din.

 _Your Din._ It still seems so novel. You only left Tatooine a week ago, confessions to one another laid bare.* You've barely even had a chance to explore whatever this was between the two of you and now you're kidnapped with the real possibility that these bandits will kill you before you ever get a chance to see him again, ever get a chance to touch him. Maker, this galaxy is unfair.

The bantharod sears your skin again, breaking you from the only coherent thoughts you've had in hours. "Tell me where the Mandalorian is," the Nikto commands.

You don't care how much pain you have to endure. You don't care if you die because of this. You won't give up Din. You suck in a shaky breath, trying to keep your voice even. 

"What Mandalorian?"

Pain sears through you and consciousness slips away from you yet again.

***

_Earlier_

It’s been three days since Din left on his latest hunt and Grogu is an absolute terror. Grogu often has a penchant for trouble, but today he’s inspired. He won’t stop trying to tear things apart or put them into his mouth. You’ve tried to put him in his floating pram multiple times only for him to push it back open with his powers, wandering around the ship and finding more things to mess with. It’s as though his only goal for the day is to break things and bother you.

After two hours of struggling with him, you give up on working on the navigation deflector system. The trip through the asteroid field is still fresh on your mind, but with Grogu running around you can’t focus for long enough to get anything done with it. You keep your eye on him as you pack away your tools. 

“Are you happy now, you little monster? I’m done working on it, okay?” you tell him.

Grogu’s ears flutter and you’re pretty sure it means he’s proud of himself. You shake your head, but you can’t hold it against him. The Razor Crest never feels quite right when Din is gone on a hunt. It bothers you and you know it bothers the little womp rat as well. 

Unfortunately for you, that usually means the longer Din is gone for, the worse Grogu behaves. It’s as though all of the kid’s worry for his dad translates into causing the largest amount of trouble possible.

Tools put away, you settle onto the floor of the hull with Grogu, holding his little metal ball for him to move with his mind. Din didn’t like when you took it out of the cockpit, but it was the only toy Grogu would keep his focus on for long periods of time. You hold it between your thumb and index finger, coaxing him to take it from you. Grogu screws up his face, extending his tiny hand out towards you, and the ball begins to float. 

It fascinates you to watch Grogu wield the Force. You aren’t quite sure how he does it, only having done so yourself once before when you were pissed at Din.* The Force doesn’t seem like something you can control as Grogu does. It feels more fluid, more nebulous to you. Something that can push you in the right direction or warn you of bad intentions, but not a physical phenomenon for you to control. Din told you that Grogu had training of some kind and you wonder if that’s why he’s able to affect physical objects with relative ease compared to you.

You take the ball back from Grogu and encourage him to move it again. This time, instead of simply watching him, you try to focus on the way the air feels as he floats it back to his little hands. You can feel a small shift, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. You narrow your focus on it, trying to get a feel for what it is that Grogu is doing. The disturbance in the air starts to feel more distinct. The closest comparison you have for the sensation is trying to push a wave while underwater. It’s doable, but difficult and muddled. 

The ball returns to Grogu’s hand and the feeling dissipates. You sigh, encouraged that you can actually feel what it is he’s doing, but disappointed that you’re no closer to figuring out _how_ he’s doing it. You can’t help but wonder if your connection to the Force, whatever it is, will ever develop to the level of Grogu’s.

You continue to play with Grogu and the ball for a while, trying to figure out just how he’s moving it. You don’t have much more luck than your initial feeling. After a while, you can feel it tiring you out, depleting your energy in a way that feels entirely unique. It’s a kind of full-body exhaustion, one that you can feel from the top of your head all the way to the tip of your toes. Not wanting to fall asleep and let Grogu have the run of the place, you stop trying to tune into what it is the little guy is doing to move the ball.

Realizing how hungry you are, you locate some food and lean up against a crate. Grogu notices the small meal you’ve grabbed and moves in towards you, snuggling into your lap. 

“Always well behaved when there’s food, aren’t you?” you tease. Grogu babbles and you share some meat with him. Once you’re done eating you stay positioned against the crate, Grogu not moving either.

You wake up to the sound of the hatch opening. You wonder how long you’ve been out for, not remembering falling asleep in the first place. Grogu is still in your arms, eyes opening from his nap, so you know your rest didn’t last for long. If it had, he would have crawled out of your arms and wreaked havoc somewhere in the ship. An unfamiliar voice speaks, not the rich, modulated tone you were expecting and you pull Grogu in close.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" 

You look up to see two Kajain'sa'Niktos staring down at you. Terror crashes over you, but you don’t allow yourself to freeze. Instead, you break for the small hold that Din uses as his and Grogu’s bedroom. You shove Grogu inside and slam the door shut. Urgently, you punch in the sequence to lock the door. You just manage to press in the last key when you hear a blaster go off behind you. The blast hits you in the back and you slump to the floor, stunned and unconscious.

***

You startle awake, someone’s hand coming down hard across your face. Opening your eyes, you panic, unable to see. It takes you a moment before you realize that a cloth sack has been thrown over your head. Whoever it is that’s kidnapped you, this isn’t their first go around. They know to keep you deprived of your senses, to keep you from seeing where you’ve been taken. Another smack lands across your face, causing you to sputter from the pain.

“Ah good, she’s awake in there,” someone says from above you.

You’re in a kneeling position on the ground, arms in binders behind your back. You have no idea where you are, who’s threatening you, or why they’ve even taken you hostage. The unidentified voice speaks again.

“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go.”

You have no idea what they’re talking about. You stay quiet and another smack hits. For your head being covered by a bag, they are awfully good at finding your cheek. “Well?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you tell them honestly.

Whoever is interrogating you lets out a mean laugh. “I think you know perfectly well, girl. The Mandalorian, where is he?”

You’re glad for the sack over your head, hiding your look of surprise from the kidnappers. They were looking for Din? How do they even know he's here on Bastatha? The Razor Crest is practically a ghost ship, never tripping any alerts when landing. Additionally, you’d been on planet for three days when they found the ship and they seemed surprised to find you and Grogu on it. Just who were these people and what were they planning? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem well thought out.

“I’m not sure I know who you’re talking about. I don’t know any Mandalorians,” you reply. 

You know it’s not the best play, being literally found on Din’s ship, but it’s the only one you have. If you deny all knowledge of him, they can’t find a way to get information out of you. That answer brings a swift kick to your kidney. The force knocks you onto your side, head falling against the floor.

“Don’t play stupid, girl. Just tell us where he is and we’ll let you go. No need for us to hurt you any more.”

This guy can’t be serious. He can’t actually think you’re that stupid. As though any criminal on Bastatha, especially one after a Mandalorian, would just let a girl they’ve kidnapped go. At best they would kill you. At worst, well, you don’t want to think about those possibilities right now.

“Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you beg.

There’s no kick this time, which surprises you. They seemed consistent in rewarding you with pain for wrong answers. Instead, you hear boots come to a stop in front of you. Your kidnapper kneels, moving his face down in front of yours. You can smell his breath through the sack. “Well maybe we’ll just keep you here for a while until you do know.” 

You preferred the kick to this guy’s breath. He moves away from you and you can hear the door to the room slide open. His footsteps leave, followed by a couple other pairs. Just who are these idiots? Smart enough to deprive you of your sight, but stupid to leave you unguarded. _Shabuir._

You remain on the ground, eventually managing to move yourself into a seated position with your legs crossed on the floor. It’s difficult to tell how much time passes with the bag over your head. 

You try to use your other senses to get a feel for the room you’re in. You can tell it’s not big and after a couple minutes, just to be sure, you’re certain no one is left in the room with you. Unfortunately, there isn’t much you can do with your sight obstructed and hands restrained. You could try to fumble around the room blind, but that would likely only alert them to an attempted escape — if they were at least smart enough to leave someone posted outside of the room they were keeping you in. You aren’t sure of what to do. You know you don’t have the ability to fight your way out of a criminal stronghold, but being tortured doesn’t sound ideal.

With no other options available, you decide to remain seated, waiting for their return. Your mind wanders as you wait. You hold onto hope that Grogu is safe. There’s been no mention of him by your kidnappers and you take it as a good sign. Hopefully the two that had broken onto the Crest ignored him in the locked hold, deciding that you were enough to take back for information or bait.

Your thoughts shift to Din. It’s not really clear to you what the Red Niktos want with him. Clearly they don’t know of Grogu or they certainly would have captured him too. Could they just want his beskar? It wouldn’t be the first time criminals saw Din’s armor as a quick payday. Or was there something more here? Could it have something to do with Din’s quarry on this planet? There’s no way for you to know.

You wish you could get a message to Din somehow. Having been taken by surprise you had no opportunity to grab a communicator or tracking device of any kind. You have faith in Din’s tracking abilities, it’s what makes him such a great bounty hunter, but there’s next to nothing for him to go off of to find you. Part of you wonders if he’ll even realize that you were taken, that you didn’t just run off for some strange and unknown reason. You curse your luck, bitter that the universe would choose to take you from him now.

The unfairness of it all crashes over you. The strong wave of emotion takes hold within you, settling deep within your chest. The sensation is familiar, the Force welling up inside. You only wish you had somewhere to direct it, somewhere to push and cause the wave you felt Grogu drive through the air just earlier that day.

The door slides open and closed, two sets of footsteps entering the room. “So girl, care to speak now? Or will we need to start applying some pressure?”

It’s the same voice as before, the leader of the group you’ve concluded. You can hear something, some sort of weapon crackle to life alongside his threat. There’s any number of electrified weapons it could be, but you don’t really care to learn which.

The Force pushes stronger within you, and having no other options, you decide to throw caution to the wind. You focus your feeling, your emotion, onto a single point in the room. The buzzing of the weapon is loud and you figure it’s your best option. If you can just manage to take the one holding it out, you might stand a better chance against the other. You slow your breathing, hands flexing within the binders, and focus on nothing other than shoving the weapon back against the one holding it. You envision it, imagining him falling to the floor from the pain.

Then you feel it. Your wave, your push within the Force is made physical. It pushes hard against the kidnapper and you hear his screams as his own weapon attacks him. You’re unrelenting in holding it against him. It’s exhausting you, but you keep pushing. You don’t stop until you hear his knees hit the floor with a loud thud. You begin to move, but before you can get a leg under you, the other kidnapper is on you. He shoves you down to the floor, ripping the bag from your head. Light blinds you, having been deprived of it for so long. You can feel his knee in your back, keeping you pinned to the ground. His hand is shoving your face down into the filthy floor.

“Witch,” he hisses at you. 

More Red Niktos flood into the room, surrounding you with their weapons. You try to reach out into the Force again, a last ditch effort to save yourself, but there’s nothing. Whatever connection you managed to create is now lost to you. The leader, the one who’s been threatening you, grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head up from the floor.

“You’re going to pay for that. And you’re going to tell us where the Mandalorian is.”

You’re forced back onto your knees, binders on with additional restraints keeping you tied to the floor. The criminal you took out with the Force has been taken from the room, but someone new has picked up his weapon. A bantharod that is sure to inflict damage.

This time, they punish you before even asking a question. The bantharod sparks to life and is brought down hard against your back. Probably payback for incapacitating one of their own. You scream at the pain, unable to even try to hold back your reaction. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, the electricity coursing through you while the pole tears apart your skin.

The leader waves his hand at the one torturing you. “So, girl,” he says, “What is it going to be? Information or torture?”

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you spit out, gasping for air.

“Hmm, wrong answer. Again.” The bantha rod comes back down and the searing pain renews.

\---

Returning to the Razor Crest, Din knows right away that something is wrong. The hatch is down, something he expressly told you not to while he was gone. Bastatha is a planet filled to the brim with criminals, the kind that wouldn’t have qualms about causing harm to a woman or child. He told you as much before leaving and you made it clear that you wouldn’t open the hatch for anyone but him.

Getting closer, Din notices something attached to the outside of the hull nearby the hatch. He’s not entirely sure what it is, never having seen anything like it before, but if its position was anything to go off of, it meant that you didn’t open the ship yourself. Din drags the body of his quarry up the ramp and calls out to you. No reply. _Haar’chak._

Din takes the body to the carbonite chamber, not wanting to deal with a rotting corpse while looking for you and Grogu, who he’s noticed missing as well. He makes quick work of encasing his quarry and comes back to the main hull, calling out for you again and listening for a reply. Panic is starting to set in. Where could you have gone? What’s happened to you and his foundling?

He sweeps through the Crest, calling for you and Grogu and receiving no reply. He tries to imagine that maybe you’re both just scared, hiding from him in case it was some elaborate trap. Not exactly logical, but one of the only hopes he can cling to. 

As he reaches the back of the hull, he realizes the tiny bedroom is locked closed. Not a good sign. Quickly, Din punches in the code to unlock it, expecting to find you and Grogu hunkered down inside, only for the door to slide open and reveal a solitary and tearful Grogu.

Din’s blood runs cold. You would never willingly leave Grogu behind. Especially not locked away, alone within the Razor Crest. Din picks the child up, trying to comfort him while asking after you. Grogu begins to babble loudly, angrily, while making the biggest hand motions he can muster and Din knows it means nothing good. You're gone, most likely taken by whoever broke into the ship. He doesn't like where this is headed.

Din is relieved that he can’t find any traces of blood. That’s good — although you didn’t get any hits in on your attacker (attackers? Was there more than one?) they also didn’t get any in on you. That meant you were probably knocked out or dragged out soon after locking Grogu away. Din wonders who could have taken you and why. Unfortunately, on a planet full of criminals, everyone is suspect.

Grogu in hand, Din storms out of the Crest and rips the small electronic box off of the hull. This would give him some place to start. Hopefully whatever ge’hutuun thought it would be a good idea to break into the Crest and take you were stupid enough to leave a clue behind with their foriegn technology. They probably didn’t even know who’s ship they had broken into and Din was going to make them regret it.

\---

_Now_

The unknown piece of technology that had been attached to the Crest gave Din nothing. No sort of tracking chip, no identifying markers, absolutely nothing to go off of. All he managed to do with it was confirm that it had forced the hatch open. It’s his only lead and it gave him _nothing._ He throws it across the hull of the ship, watching with pleasure as it explodes into numerous pieces on impact. 

Grogu whines at the destruction and Din turns to him. Thinking he scared the child, he apologizes, “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you.”

The child ignores Din, moving himself down from the crate he was sitting on. He waddles over to the exploded pieces, picking up the largest one he can in his tiny hands. Looking it over, he seems to decide it’s good enough for whatever purpose he has in mind and returns to Din. The Mandalorian looks down at his foundling with curiosity, unsure of what the little one has planned. 

Grogu sits on the ground, closing his eyes and holding the scrap of metal tightly. His face scrunches and Din knows that this means he’s doing something with the Force. The only thing Din can do is wait and watch while he works his magic. 

Minutes tick by and to Din it feels like hours. Every moment is a moment he could be spending looking for you. Fear and anger are both gripping him — terrified as to what might have happened or might be happening to you and pissed that someone would dare to take you from him. He only just got a hold of you, only just learned that you feel the same way he does and now you’re gone. Ripped from him. Din wished Grogu would hurry up if only so that he could tear apart the shabuir who took you faster.

Eventually, Grogu perks his ears up and opens his eyes. He looks up at Din and begins to babble. “What is it, adi’ka?” Din asks. He’s never wished that the kid could speak Basic more.

The child does what he can to communicate though, gesturing to his floating pram. Din understands and places him in it, walking out of the Razor Crest with it bobbing along at his side. Grogu holds onto the piece of metal, occasionally closing his eyes for brief moments to try and get a better feel of where you are. The caverns and tunnels of Bastatha are winding and disorienting. If they were simpler, it would have taken Din half as much time to find the quarry that had chosen to hide out on this inhospitable planet. 

Din is half-convinced Grogu is just leading them in circles until _something_ happens. Without a connection to the Force Din can’t feel the shift that Grogu felt, but the sudden change in the child makes it clear that his connection to you is stronger. He perks up and begins to lead Din with real purpose, more confident deciding which ways to turn. It doesn’t seem like each and every turn is a unique challenge to him anymore. His direction is more focused, more pointed. It still takes some time winding through the tunnels, but eventually a large cavern is reached and Grogu stops his gesturing.

Din takes cover behind a wall and looks down at Grogu. “Is this it? She’s here?” he asks. Grogu nods. Din presses a button on his vambrace and encloses the child into his pram. It’s time to get to work.

Peeking around the corner, Din surveys the cavern in front of him. He doesn’t see you anywhere but there are some tunnels leading out from the wide hollow that you could be stashed down. It would just be the small matter of figuring out which tunnel is the right one. A number of Red Niktos are wandering around the space, armed and protecting piles of spice and other stolen goods. 

The pieces begin to fall together. Din’s quarry had been a Red Nikto. Emphasis on the _had_ part. He didn’t think too much of it when he took the job, Bastatha was crawling with them, being the headquarters for Rinnrivin Di’s cartel. Clearly this quarry had mattered to someone though and they decided to retaliate, beating Din back to his own ship. Stupid move on their part. They wanted revenge for just one of them and for that Din is going to lay waste to them all.

Din becomes a one-man war machine. He launches into the cavern like a man possessed. The first three criminals he takes out don’t stand a chance. They’re riddled with blaster holes before they even know it’s a Mandalorian that’s killed them. Somewhere Din can hear the others calling out _he’s here, the Mandalorian, he’s killing everyone,_ but he ignores them entirely. He wants them to come. He wants to paint the walls red with their blood.

None of them stand a chance against him. Din’s not sure that he’s been this focused since he was a foundling, proving he was worthy of his beskar’gam. Blaster fire bounces off of his armor, glancing aside in every which way. The hits barely even affect him as he continues his forward charge. With a few well placed shots, Din sets off a fireball on the other side of the cavern, taking out another group of the Niktos. Seeing his opportunity with the explosion distraction, Din grabs the nearest Red Nikto by the collar and drags him in towards his face.

“ _Where is she,_ ” Din demands. The criminal flounders to answer and is rewarded with a blaster bolt to the forehead. His friend is cowering nearby and Din grabs him next. He doesn’t even have to ask and the Nikto is pointing in the direction of the tunnel they’ve placed you down. He’s given the same reward.

Din’s warpath continues down the tunnel, taking no mercy on any that are stupid enough to make themselves known to him. Grogu’s protective bubble follows behind at a safe distance. There are numerous rooms lining the tunnel, but Din keeps pushing forward, something in his gut telling him that he hasn’t found you just yet. Then he hears it. Your scream. It’s gut wrenching and it tears him from the inside out. It’s one of the worst sounds Din has ever heard in his life. 

If Din was pissed before, he doesn’t know what to call this. This rage, this _a’din,_ that completely consumes his entire being. He rushes towards the offensive noise. Within moments the Red Niktos guarding the room you’re inside are eviscerated, torn apart by his vibroblade. The blaster seemed too kind an end for them. 

He nearly tears the door from its hinges. Five Niktos are inside, surprised to look up and see Din standing there. “You wanted to see me?” 

One by one, the bodies drop to the floor, starting with Din going after the one holding the bantharod above you first. He steals the criminal’s weapon and turns it back on him. Din feels a bit sick at the pleasure he takes in destroying your kidnappers, but he pushes past it. They hurt you, his cyare, and for that they had to pay.

When all have fallen to Din’s hand, he follows their example, crashing onto his knees beside your comatose form. His heart breaks at the sight of you. You’re slumped forward onto the dirty floor, hands bound behind your back, with your hair strewn over your face. The skin of your back is broken and flayed, red and swollen in some places and singed black in others. Your breathing is shallow and unsteady. He doesn’t even need to spare a second glance to know that you’re unconscious.

The rage that had overtaken him melts away almost entirely, replaced instead by the horror he’s been fighting back since he first returned to the Razor Crest. He wants to sob at the sight of you, something he hasn’t done since he was a child. Another part of him, the part that wins out, wants to protect you. To take you from this place and care for you until you’re okay once again.

Din breaks your arms free of their bonds and they fall, limp at your sides with wrists red and raw. He pushes the hair back from your face, heart breaking even more. Your face is tear streaked and covered in grime. He can only imagine the pain that forced those tears out from you. He looks you over quickly, checking for any more injuries that might be hiding. When he’s convinced that your back is the worst of it, Din carefully picks you up, fireman carrying you over his shoulders. He knows it isn’t ideal, but it’s far better than actually touching your back would be at the moment.

With you slung over one shoulder, Din takes his blaster back into his free hand and marches out of the cavern, killing any other Red Nikto that comes across his path without hesitation. It’s merciful, Din decides, compared to what he wishes he could do to each and every one of them.

The journey back to the Razor Crest is easier than his journey there, following the homing navigation tucked inside his vambrace. Din lays you down carefully back at the ship and leaves Grogu with you as he gets the ship off of Bastatha. He knows it won’t be long before Rinnrivin Di catches wind of his massacre and Din isn’t interested in sticking around to find out what the crime lord planned on for restitution. 

When Din comes back down from the cockpit he sees Grogu standing over you, tiny hands outstretched. He knows exactly what the child is doing. Normally Din would stop him, concerned by the overexertion, but he finds himself too afraid for you to do so.

Your breathing has been so shallow and in the bright light of the ship your injuries look even worse than Din had first thought. Grogu healing you, even a small amount, will at least pull you firmly back onto the side of the living. He watches with fascination as the skin on your back reknits itself, the black edges turning pink once again.

He's there to catch Grogu when he slumps over, exhausted from both his efforts to find and heal you today. "Thank you, adi'ka," Din whispers to his son, placing him in his little hammock to rest. He keeps the door open, not wanting Grogu to think he's alone again when he wakes.

Din grabs the medical supplies and returns to you. Your breathing is a bit stronger now and the very worst of your back has been healed. The wound still looks angry and would likely scar, but it was no longer a threat to your life. Thankful that you thought to restock on supplies before leaving Tatooine, Din gives you a powerful bacta shot.

He carefully removes your ruined shirt, leaving the singed chest band you have on. He knows you wouldn't be angry at him for removing it, being that it was for a medical purpose, but he can't bring himself to. As a person who knows too well about covering their body, he can't divest you of that without your permission. It's far enough down that it doesn't really need to come off anyway, not at risk to irritate your wound further.

Din then grabs a medical wipe and begins to clean you up as best as he can without use of the 'fresher. Slowly, he wipes away the dirt and sweat from your body. Din's thoughts become lost in you as he works.

He begins to map out the valleys and contours of your body, making sure not to miss a single inch. You're intoxicating to him, even in your current, injured state. He runs his fingers through your hair gently, keeping it from your face and trying to work out some of the tangles without pulling too hard. He loves your hair, has loved it since the first time he ever reached out to touch it.* 

As he cleans your back and arms, he laments the barrier his gloves create between you. Not long after having the thought, Din gives in, craving the chance to touch you. To know with his own hands the way your skin feels. He carefully removes his gloves, placing them down on the floor. Slowly, he reaches out to you with his bare hand, nervous. 

Soft. You’re soft. Din feels like he should have guessed that somehow. How could you be anything other than soft? 

Carefully, he moves up to your face, cradling your cheek in his hand as he wipes away the sweat, tears, and dirt that cover it. His fingers gently brush along your features. Din has spent hours thinking of your face. The way it looks when scrunched in laughter, the determined look you have when working on the Crest, the way your eyes shine when you care for Grogu, and now, the peaceful look that graces it when you sleep. For just a moment, Din fantasizes about waking up next to you, helmetless, just to see your tranquil expression.

He shakes himself free of fantasy, only for his eyes to fall to your lips. If Din has spent hours thinking of your face, he’s spent years dreaming of your lips. His fingers ghost over them, confirming to himself that they are just as soft as the rest of you. He longs to feel your lips across his body. To feel your lips against his own. 

Din almost removes his helmet, but he holds back. He knows that if he removes it now and kisses you, he’ll never want to put it back on. He’ll never want to know another moment where your lips aren’t touching his and he can’t do that. Stealing a kiss from you now, it just feels wrong. He can’t take that from you in secret, it wouldn’t be right.

Din forces himself to look away from you. Roughly, he shoves his gloves back on, breaking himself from his fantasies. He can’t let himself get caught up like this. Din finishes cleaning your face and sprays bacta onto your wound. For good measure he covers it with some bandages and then forces himself away from you. 

If Din followed what his heart was crying out for him to do, he’d stay at your side until you woke up. More than anything he wants to stay beside you, touching you, until he knows for certain that you are going to be okay. That you’re going to wake up and heal from this. But he can’t. Already he’s removed his gloves and thought of removing his helmet for you twice in less than ten minutes. He can’t get swept up in this, the Armorer’s voice clanging around inside his head, reminding him of the Way.

Din moves to the ladder of the cockpit, the only other place he can think to go for now. He puts one hand on a rung and takes another look at you, peaceful and safe back in the Razor Crest. His heart swells, knowing that he has you back, but his head swirls with confusion as he struggles to deal with the way he feels towards you. He tears his eyes away, climbing up, but keeps an ear out for any sign that you might be awake.

***

Your eyes flutter open. The world slowly comes into focus. You’re laying on your stomach and as you look around, you begin to realize where you are. This is no shitty Red Nikto prison cell, you’re back on board the Razor Crest. You’re back home.

A slow tear rolls down your face as reality sinks in. Din found you. He found you alive, he made it out, and now you were safe. You’re on your bed roll, extra blankets piled all around you for warmth and comfort. There’s no bantharod hovering behind you, ready to sear into your skin anymore. There’s only the hum of the Razor Crest surrounding you, and presumably, somewhere inside of the old ship was the rest of her crew.

You try to call out for Din, only to discover that your throat is too dry and hoarse to make a sound. Desperate to see him, to let him know that you’re awake, and to feel some definite comfort, you begin to kick against the wall of the Crest. It’s not a particularly loud sound, but the unusual thud is enough to get Din’s attention.

He comes flying down from the cockpit, rushing over to your side. “Mar’e!” Din exclaims as he kneels beside you. Not having the energy to ask him what it means now, you lodge the piece of Mando’a away for later, for when you can think a bit straighter. 

Your voice barely above a whisper, you call out for water. Din is up and grabbing some for you before you finish the last syllable. When he returns, he helps you sit up, hands carefully avoiding your back. Your entire body feels like lead and you find that it takes all of your effort to even hold your head up. Din helps you drink, gently holding the glass for you to take small sips from. 

Thirst partially satiated, you look up at Din and manage to croak out, “Grogu?”

Din’s hands are firm on your arms, holding you steady. “He’s fine, cyar’ika. You saved him. He’s just sleeping right now.” 

You smile, grateful to know that your efforts to protect the child hadn’t been for nothing. He was okay, sleeping away peacefully somewhere on the Razor Crest. “You?” you whisper next. 

You know that rescuing you couldn’t have been an easy feat. The massive effort of locating you aside, you know that wherever you had been taken must have been crawling with Kajain'sa'Niktos. While Din is an extremely capable warrior, there’s a good chance he could have been injured in his rescue attempt.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” Din tells you. 

Relief washes over you at his words, but your head begins to spin, darkness encroaching on the edges of your vision. “Sleepy,” you mumble.

Din makes you drink a little more water and then helps to lay you back down. “It’s okay mesh’la,” he says to you. “You’re safe now.”

You drift back to sleep, heart full and content knowing that not only are you safe again, so are Din and Grogu. If anything had happened to them, you aren’t sure what you would have done or how you would have reacted. They both mean too much to you to ever let something hurt them because of you.

***

You feel considerably better the next time you wake up. Your back hurts, but at least you feel like you can move this time. You sit up slowly, noticing the glass of water that’s been left next to you. After taking a drink, you look to find Grogu sitting down by your feet. “Waiting for me to wake up, little guy?” 

Grogu perks up at you and waddles into your lap. You hold him in close, enjoying the small, tender moment. If you’re honest with yourself, there was a part of you that thought you might never make it back here. That your last moments would be spent on the ground of some dirty criminal’s hideout. You’re thankful that you were wrong.

The door to the ‘fresher slides open, taking you by surprise. Din steps out and stops in his tracks when he sees you. Both of you stare at each other for a moment, neither of you really prepared for this moment. You remember the brief moment of consciousness you had before, but this feels different. More real.

“Hi there,” you finally say.

Din still doesn’t move. “You’re up.”

“Yes, I am.” You aren’t sure of what to do with yourself. You want to get up and run into his arms and never let go, but you also aren’t positive you can do more than sit up at the moment. Your upper back really does hurt still and your limbs feel a bit weak.

Din finally seems to realize that he can move. He picks up a medpack on a nearby crate and kneels down in front of you. “I was going to check on your wound.”

You’re very aware of how close he is to you now. Your breath catches in your throat. “Oh, um, I can probably do that. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Din doesn’t say anything, instead taking Grogu from your arms and placing him off to the side.

You’re a bit unnerved that he hasn’t said anything so you start to ramble. “I mean it, I’m okay, you don’t have to-”

Din cuts you off. “Cyare. Let me take care of you.” 

You look into the black of his t-visor where you think his eyes might be. He wasn’t commanding when he said it, instead calm and almost… pleading? He places a hand on your upper arm, his thumb gently gliding across the skin. You couldn’t deny him if you tried. “O-okay.”

Din gently guides you, turning you to face the wall of the Razor Crest. You wish he would say something. There are thousands of questions swirling around in your head and you have no idea which to ask first. How long have you been out for? How bad is your injury? How did he find you? Was there any one other than Imps who were now coming after you? He had to know you have questions, couldn’t he just answer them without you having to ask?

Then Din’s hands are on your back and your mind goes blank. He’s just removing the bandages that he presumably put there, but you can’t think of anything other than the feeling of his hands on you. Where the bantharod had been electrifying, Din’s hands felt steady, grounding against your skin. You could almost sob at the steady touch.

“Is this okay?” Din asks.

You have to remember to breathe before you respond. “Yeah, it feels nice.”

Din is careful with you, taking his time while he assesses and cleans your wound. As he works, you’re reminded of Rishi, when he patched you up after the fight in the forest and how gentle he had been with you then.* That seemed so long ago and yet you can remember the way his hands felt that night as clearly as you can right now. A desperate part of you hopes that this isn’t the only way you’ll ever get him to touch you like this.

As Din reapplies your bandages, you find your voice. “Din, how did you find me?” you ask gently.

“The kid. He used the Force somehow to find you.” Din still isn’t quite sure how that had worked, why at some point it became stronger, but he’s thankful for it all the same.

The memory of using the Force crashes back over you. Could that have signaled to Grogu where you were? 

“I used it,” you tell Din without a second thought. You’ve been telling him all about the feelings you get from the Force at times,* and you don’t see why this should be any different. If anything, this is far more important than any brush you’ve previously had with the Force.

Din’s hands falter on your back. “What?”

“I used the Force,” you repeat. “I don’t know how I did really, but I pushed the kriffing bantharod against the first shabuir who tried to use it on me.”

Din laughs. It confuses you, but you find you don’t really mind the odd reaction. It’s endearing almost, in a strange sort of way. Only a Mandalorian could laugh at you Force-pushing a bantharod into your would-be torturer. “Why are you laughing?” you ask, curious for his reason.

“I don’t really know.” Din is telling the truth when he answers. He doesn’t know why he laughed at that. The idea of your torture still brought forth a terrifying bloodlust within him, but knowing that you had used your magic powers to attack them before he even arrived to rain hell, it brought him some semblance of joy. You protected his child and then you still found a way to fight back against all odds. The thought of kissing you once again ran through Din’s mind.

“How bad is it?” you ask.

Din pauses before responding. He knows he could lie to you, but what would be the point? It’s better that you know the shape you’re in. “It could be worse. Grogu healed the worst of it a day ago but you’re going to have a few more days of pain. It’s probably going to scar.”

You can’t find the words to reply — it’s a lot to take in. A day. You’ve been out for a day. That could definitely be worse you suppose. Grogu had healed you, healed the worst of it. How bad had it been before he healed you? Given your current state, you can only assume it was something terrible. Then, there would be scars.

You don’t mind scars. You have a few already from stupid and reckless things in your past but this one won’t be small. You already know that, you can tell from the ache you feel across your shoulder blades. It will be obvious, visible, and a terrible reminder. You’re thankful it’s on your back, that you won’t be forced to look at it everyday, but your thoughts drift to Din. He would have to see them. A constant display of your pain, of your weakness. You can only hope that he won’t find your inevitable scars unbearable to see.

Din finishes replacing your bandages and stands. He doesn’t turn you back around, giving you as much time as you need to process things. You can hear him on the ladder before you call out to him. “Hey, Din?”

You turn to see him pause his ascent. “Yes?”

You smile at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course, cyar’ika,” he replies and then continues up the ladder.

***

You sneak your way over to the 'fresher, gently closing the door behind you. You don't want to alert Din to the fact that you're awake, knowing that he'll come to check on you if he hears you up. He's been wonderful, going above and beyond while your back heals, but you can't help but feel like you've taken advantage of him. He has so many other things to focus on or worry about and instead he's been preoccupied with you.

Besides, you aren't looking for medical help right now anyway. You just want to see how it looks. 

Despite being up and mobile for the past few days, you haven’t been able to look at your back yet. Even when you’ve used the ‘fresher, you’ve carefully avoided the mirror, only looking in it when you’re head on. You weren’t ready yet, but now, more or less completely healed, it’s time.

You flick on the light of the 'fresher and turn to face your back to the mirror. Glancing over your shoulder, you're met with tight, pink, blemished skin. You stopped wearing bandages a couple days ago, the last of the blisters and charred skin having gone from your body. Din still sprayed some bacta over your shoulders despite your protests where the worst of the damage was.

Putting an arm behind your back, you gently pass your fingers over the puckered skin. There’s nothing that can be done about the scars. Between Grogu and the bacta your back looked considerably better than it should, given the severity of your burns from the bantharod. It didn't even ache anymore which had seemed unthinkable only two days before. The 'fresher door suddenly slides open and you jump, startled by Din's unexpected appearance. 

"Sorry, did I wake you?" you ask.

Din ignores your question in favor of his own. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you tell him. "I just- I wanted to see how it looks."

Din moves into the 'fresher, positioning himself in front of you but looking at your back in the mirror. You're practically touching, the small room not really designed for more than one person at a time. You’ve gotten close these past few days with Din insisting that he continue to care for your wound, but this feels like something different. Something that makes you begin to ache with desire.

As he steps into the light of the room you realize that the only beskar on Din at the moment is his helmet. He's nearly laid bare before you, only wearing a black long sleeve shirt and some black pants. Looking up at him, you can see the expanse of his neck, uncovered from his usual cloak and flight suit. It's enough to make your heart begin to beat rapidly, unsure of what to do with such an unexpected sight before you. Part of you wants to reach out to touch him, but you’re not sure if that’s something you’re allowed.

Distracted, you don't even notice that Din is moving his hands around to your scars until his fingers gently brush the skin. It makes you jump a little, not anticipating the touch. You tear your eyes away from his neck and look back behind yourself in the mirror only to realize Din’s hands are bare. Those are his real, golden tanned hands gently caressing you, not the soft worn leather of his gloves. 

You watch how deftly his fingers move, tracing the new lines across your skin. It feels reverential, the way he touches you. As though you are the most precious thing in the galaxy, and he can't believe he can reach out to touch you. You watch him with bated breath, mind drifting to wonder what else his hands might be good at.

“Mesh’la, let me take care of you," he says, still looking at you in the mirror.

"Din, you've already cared for me plenty, I'm okay now, I promise," you tell him.

"Mesh'la," Din says again, half begging half warning. You realize that you don't know what that word in Mando’a means, despite how familiar it sounds.

"What does that mean?"

"Beautiful," Din replies easily. "You're beautiful, your scars are beautiful."

"How can you say that?" you ask in disbelief. The new scars look anything but beautiful to you. They look angry, aggressive, marring your skin forever. You never gave your attractiveness too much consideration before, but you’re sure these scars aren’t doing anything to help you — just a constant reminder of your torment.

"I look at them and I see _mirshko,_ courage, _atin,_ endurance, and _kot,_ strength. I look at you and I see a _cuyan,_ a survivor before me. They make you even more beautiful to me than you were before." Din's glance drops from the mirror to you. His gaze, even from behind the helmet, is intense and you can feel heat pool between your legs.

"Do you trust me?" Din asks, his voice low.

"Yes." If you weren't so distracted by him, you might be embarrassed by how quickly you respond.

"Then, cyar'ika, let me take care of you." Din reaches over to the light switch and turns it off. The ship plunges into darkness, small flashing lights only illuminating enough to see outlines and shapes. Before you have time to react to the change in lighting, Din is picking you up. You let out a small noise and wrap your legs around him in surprise. Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble through his chest. 

“You have to be quiet, sweet girl, the kid is sleeping.” 

Din takes you over to your bedroll and lays you down gently. The blankets he’d placed around you when you were first injured haven’t left the makeshift bed, as they made it far more comfortable than it had been before. Your hands are tracing along Din’s broad chest, uncertain of where to go next. This isn’t your first time, far from it, but you’re used to kissing leading to something more. With Din, that wouldn’t be possible, not with the helmet in the way.

Just as you’re thinking of what to do next, how to move this forward, you hear the hiss of Din’s helmet release. Your hands still, not quite sure if you’re hearing things right. The helmet thuds against the floor of the ship, giving you instant confirmation. Din removed his helmet. “Din- wait, I- I thought- your Creed,” you stutter.

“Loophole.” Then, just like that, Din’s lips are crashing onto yours. It’s a hot and needy kiss, messy, colliding teeth and tongue. It’s nothing like you expected a first kiss with Din to be, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you can feel his lips on yours, and was that… facial hair? You smile into the kiss at the feeling of his scruff against you.

Din moves his attention down your neck with a smile to match your own. “Something funny?”

Oh Maker, his voice. You’ve grown so accustomed to the modulated voice you’ve forgotten that you used to wonder what he might sound like without it. It was so rich and so deep without the high-pass filter over top. You didn’t know it was possible that his voice could be lower than it already was. Your thighs clench at the sound.

“You have facial hair, I didn’t expect that.”

Din stops kissing your neck and you can see the shadow of his head appear above you. “Do you- do you mind?” His voice is still thick with lust, but you can still hear his apprehension.

Your hands move up from his shoulders to his face. “I don’t mind at all.”

You begin to map out the shapes and contours of his features, gently moving your fingers along just as Din did with your back in the ‘fresher. His breathing becomes irregular, clearly overwhelmed by the foreign touch of hands against his face. He doesn’t stop you though, so you continue. Finally, pieces come together, ones that you haven’t been able to decide upon for so long.

Din’s jawline is strong, the patchy scruff you can feel along it isn’t long, only a week or two’s growth at most. His skin is soft, protected from the elements for all these years underneath the helmet. Your thumbs glide along his mustache, fuller than the hair on his jaw, and you move up to his nose. It’s aquiline, you can feel the pronounced bridge clearly. Of course. Din seems exactly like one to have strong and prominent features. Then you push your hands up into his hair. It’s soft and longer than you expected. For some reason you always imagined his hair to be cropped short. It seemed like a practical haircut for a warrior to have. You’re thankful you were wrong though, relishing in the loose curls as you run your hands through, tugging ever so lightly at the ends.

Din lets out a satisfied groan above you, deeply enjoying the unexpected head massage. “Sweet girl, I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you,” he moans. Then, his hands are moving against your body, caressing you in all the ways you’ve been dreaming of since Rishi.*

His hands pause over your chest band, clearly hesitant to remove it. You can tell that his hesitancy isn’t for lack of wanting though and so you arch your back, allowing him access to remove the garment. He takes your cue and pulls it off slowly, giving you ample time to stop him if you want. You allow him to continue, letting out a small sigh when he finally tosses it away.

He moans as he palms over your breasts, relishing in the way they feel beneath his calloused hands. Din’s mouth then dips down over your breasts, placing kisses anywhere he can find. You keep your hands wound in his hair, lightly pulling when his gentle massage feels especially good.

“You’re teasing,” you gasp when his fingers finally brush over your nipple. Din doesn’t reply, instead taking one of your nipples into his mouth while tweaking the other with his fingers. You moan at the sensation, encouraging Din further. You’re aching between your legs now, desperate for any friction. You move to position yourself against Din’s thigh, but he moves his leg away from you, denying you what you so badly want.

“Din, please,” you plead. Your body already feels like it's on fire and you can’t handle him teasing you like this.

Din begins to work his way down your body, pressing kisses in between words while he speaks. “I’m not going to let you off that easy, cyar’ika. I want to taste you.”

You can feel yourself grow wetter at his words. You didn’t even consider what else would be possible with the obstruction of the helmet removed. Not to say you never considered it before, but you never thought it was something that would come true, that it was something Din would want to do.

Din continues his descent down your body, slowly lifting your hips as he removes your pants. He moves too far away and you’re disappointed as your hands fall away from his soft curls. When your pants are off, he throws them carelessly into the ship, landing with a soft flump across the hull.

Din’s face then dips down to your body again, alternating small nips and soothing kisses against your inner thighs, causing you to moan louder. “Quiet, or I’ll have to stop,” Din warns you. You place one of your hands firmly over your mouth to stifle your moans, the other one returning to Din’s hair. You feel as though you’ve been allowed to touch something sacred with his hair and you never want to let it go.

Din continues his attention on your thighs and moves one hand up to brush against your panties. He teases you through them, his fingers ghosting over the damp fabric. “You’re so wet for me, cyar’ika. Do you want me that badly?”

You nod, forgetting that Din can’t see you in the dark. “Use your words,” he reminds you.

“Yes,” you reply. “I want you so badly Din, please.” You don’t have it within you to be coy. That could come later, right now you want him and you want him to know.

Din lets out an actual growl at your words, quickly moving to take off your panties. You’re shocked when he doesn’t throw them to the side like your discarded pants, but he instead brings them up to his nose, breathing in your scent. It’s so _filthy_ and you shouldn’t like it as much as you do.

“You smell so good, mesh’la, I bet you taste even better.” Din discards the panties and throws your legs over his shoulders, holding your hips firmly in place with his hands. You’re spread open wide and part of you thinks to be embarrassed until Din begins an onslaught of compliments. 

“Mesh’la. So fucking pretty, so perfect. You’re so wet for me, cyar’ika, do you know what that does to me?”

You let out a small huff, his breath hot and teasing against where you want him most. “Please, Din,” you beg and that’s all it takes. Din’s mouth is on you and he’s _needy,_ licking and sucking wherever he can, wherever makes you moan the loudest behind your hand. He’s eating your pussy like a man starved, focused on his own pleasure just as much as yours. And _kriff, he’s still talking._

You can’t hear most of it, mumbled into you while he eats you out, but you can feel it. His voice is a deep rumble within you, only spurring you on further. In all of your fantasies, you never imagined that Din would be much of a talker. With how little he chose to speak during the day, you imagined it would carry right over into the bedroom. Quiet except for moans and grunts of pleasure. How wrong you were. Even with his face buried deep in you, he won’t _shut up._

He’s pushing you closer and closer to the edge, but his constant rambling keeps you from falling over the precipice. “Din, please, _shut up_ ,” you plead. “Can’t- can’t cum with you- ah, talking.”

Din’s head comes up from between your legs. You groan from the loss of contact. You wanted him to stop talking, not stop entirely. 

“Sorry, sweet girl, I can’t help myself.” From the sound of his voice, Din isn’t sorry at all. He also seems to know that you’re about to make a snarky comment because he puts his head back down, doing something phenomenal with his tongue, distracting you from your irritation with him.

One of Din’s hands move from your hips, fingers moving to tease at your entrance. His mouth focuses on your clit just as two of his fingers slide inside. Din groans at the way you feel, so slick and tight around him. He finds the spot that makes your legs shake and with only three more strokes you’re coming undone beneath him. “Din- Din- I’m going to-” You’re forced to bite down on your hand to keep from screaming out in ecstasy. Din continues to stroke and lick you through your orgasm, driving you to overstimulation. It’s only when your grip on his hair pulls too hard that Din breaks away.

You can hardly think straight as Din moves up beside you, planting kisses all along your body. “Din- that was- wow.” You can feel his smile against your neck. He doesn’t say anything, just revels in your praise. You’re basking in the glow of your orgasm when a thought you haven’t previously considered occurs to you.

“Din?”

“Hmm?” he hums against you.

“Have you- have you ever done that before?” you ask.

Din moves himself out from his position against your neck, his face hovering just above your own. He hesitates to answer. “I uh, no,” he admits quietly.

“ _Maker_ ,” you sigh. “If you could just learn to stop talking, you’d already be perfect at it.”

Din chuckles at your compliment and claims your lips with his. This kiss is slower, more tender than before. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a reminder of where he just was, and you can feel heat pool between your legs again. You shift, moving to palm him through his pants, wanting to return the favor.

“What- why?” you ask, as Din moves your hand away from him.

“I’m not done with you yet, cyar’ika,” he says. “I’m taking care of you and I’m not going to stop until I get it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter ended up being much longer than I expected! I'm not sure if all chapters will end up this long and I don't have a consistent posting schedule planned for this fic, but I hope you stick around as the relationship continues to unfold :)
> 
> *Reference to previous work in series, Written in the Stars
> 
> Mando'a Translations:  
> A’din = wrath, rage  
> Atin = endurance  
> Beskar’gam = armor  
> Cuyan = survivor  
> Cyare = beloved, loved  
> Cyar’ika = darling, sweetheart  
> Ge’hutuun = bandit, villain, petty thief - can also mean a serious criminal you have no respect for - abusive  
> Haar’chak = Damn it!  
> Kot = strength  
> Mar’e = At last! (expression of relief)  
> Mesh’la = beautiful  
> Mirshko = courage  
> Shabuir = extreme insult - jerk but much stronger


End file.
